A Donor's Lullaby
by Alyssa James
Summary: In all his life, Miyagi never thought that he'd be here, helping his ex-wife's kid brother by giving him an implant. Shinobu never imagined he'd have a reason to live, especially after every single doctor told him otherwise. He also never thought that reason would be Miyagi himself. MIYAGI X SHINOBU, POSSILBY M-RATED IN LATER CHAPTERS. BASED ON "DONOR SONG" BY JUBYPHONIC.
1. Chapter 1

_Today is the day of my eighteenth birthday._

The steady _beep-beep_ of the monitors were like little lullabies in the stark room, their sounds reverberating almost like an echo. Two beds, placed side by side, were nearly identical with their streamlined white sheets, tucked in as though nobody had slept in them for decades, and the recline back at a heady angle. Sunlight shone through the only window in the room, illuminating as though the room was full of snow.

In some ways it was beautiful; a beautiful, endless scene that humanity would not dare disturb, no matter how dire their needs. The white was almost cherubic, angelic even. And the unprecedented cleanliness in which it was upheld sparkled as though it hadn't been touched for ages, like this room was a scene in time, frozen forever in its mysterious beauty.

At the far end of the room, a young man stood, his sandy-blond hair tussled beyond the help of a brush. His calm and—dare we say?—watery, blue sky eyes surveyed the outside scenery with distaste. Down below, people were hustling and bustling, their scrubs even identifiable from such a distance up, their gaits hurried and upset as though running from a devil. Some held briefcases, some held hands, some even held small little urns with shaking fingers; but they all were the same. No one dared to glance up, and hardly anyone paid the boy any heed.

"Um, excuse me?—Takatsuki-kun?" Whipping his head around, the boy (who we now may call Takatsuki) glared heatedly at a woman dressed all in white, her mousy, brown hair pinned neatly above her shoulders. Though it was rude, he did not grace her question with even an answer and just stood there, staring, his gaze venomous enough to bore a hole through the woman if such things were ever possible.

Finally, after a moment had passed and she still hadn't said anything, Takatsuki bit out an angry, "What? What the hell do you want?"

The woman, instead of becoming flustered or even angry by such a rude reply, gave a small, assured smile. "Takatsuki-kun, remember what we discussed with the doctor a few weeks ago? About the potential implant?"

His glare, if anything, didn't soften; it increased a whole ten-fold. As though he was gnashing his teeth together, he bit out, "Yes, I'm well aware. What about it?"

The woman smiled brighter, the wrinkles in her face protruding at an odd angle. "Well, the doctor did some research here and there and—" Here she paused as though telling him a secret. With a grin bigger than the sun itself, she said, "Well, he thinks he's found the perfect match!" Before Takatsuki could reply, she gave a small huff of excitement. "He would like for you to meet the candidate as soon as possible, if that's okay. The doctor says he'll be here sometime later tomorrow evening and—"

Suddenly, abruptly, she was cut off as a glass vase shattered against the wall beside her. Smile still etched eerily into her face, one could only tell she was startled by her pale pallor and wide, wide eyes.

"I don't want it," Takatsuki said, his gaze already settled on the distasteful scenes below him. "I don't want it all. You can tell that donor that he can go straight to hell."

This time, the woman did frown. "Takatsuki-kun…," she warned, the vase from only moments before forgotten as though it had never existed in the first place. With a nervous glance back, she took in a shaky breath and took a hesitant step forward. And another. And another. And she continued this until she was directly behind Takatsuki, his frame towering a good foot above her own.

With a loud, breathy sigh, she said, "Takatsuki-kun, you shouldn't be so dismissive. This man is willing to give you an organ—an ORGAN—" she stressed this, though whether the boy understood or not was entirely up to anyone, "just so you can live another days time. He might even save your life. Are you sure you want to throw away a chance like this so easily?"

Takatsuki's eyes narrowed, but he didn't glance away from the glass, much less grace her with a response. Sighing, she said again, "Takatsuki-kun, please—just meet with the man tomorrow and see how you feel about it. Then give me your answer. Okay?" Stepping to the side, she grabbed his chin and forced him to look at her. "Okay?"

Takatsuki glared and, for a second, she was afraid something else was going to be thrown at her; then he sighed as though he was much too tired for this. "Fine. FINE," he said when she still hadn't loosened her grip. With a satisfied little harrumph, she let his chin go and stepped back, the perfectly professional woman back like a crack of lightning.

Smiling, she gave him an appreciative nod. "I'm glad to hear it, Takatsuki-kun. Now that we've taken care of that, I believe we have some guests downstairs waiting for you. Your sister Risako and your father are both here to see you. Are you ready to go, or is there something else you require?"

As though he'd been struck, he flinched, though the woman in all her vapid vanity hardly noticed. "N-no," he replied, though not without a little effort. "Everything's… fine." The lie, as though it were some cuisine, left a bitter taste on his mouth. _No_, he wanted to scream, _everything was not fine_. He didn't want to see his sister or his father. He didn't want to meet some stranger whose organs may or may not be compatible with his body. He didn't want an implant. All of this was just much too cruel.

No, if anything, he wanted to be at home with his family. He wanted to be traveling the world—to Australia, the States, anywhere he could—just so he could leave Japan. He wanted his mother to look at him and not cringe, he wanted his sister to hold him and hug him like any sister should, and he wanted his father to come home, not dump all his stress at work to the point where nobody ever saw him. He wanted to be healthy, to be free of this affliction that had followed him since birth, and he wanted to be normal. He wanted to go to school, he wanted to meet new people who weren't doctors and nurses and aids and strangers, and he wanted to live life when he wanted, how he wanted, where he wanted.

He wanted all these things. But if he was completely honest, the most he wanted right now was an eighteenth birthday party just like anyone else—the gifts, the cake, the presents. He wanted it.

He wanted it all.

"Takatsuki-kun?"

"…I'm coming."

_Today I turned eighteen and yet, today repeats just the same. I don't think anything will ever change._

And yet, somehow, that may not be quite so true in this story…

XXX

**Please review! Also, if anyone is interested in a beta position, let me know!~ **


	2. Chapter 2

_This room's just as eerie as ever. _

It was white. Bright white light bulbs. Impeccable white walls. Even a bleached, monochromatic sky that shone with an upmost brilliance. The only bit of color belonged to a deep rooted mahogany desk at the far corner of the room, backed by a simple but adequate bookcase filled with medical journals, newspaper clippings, and the occasional harlequin romance. Almost mechanically, Takatsuki Shinobu made his way towards a plain plastic chair, the color—surprise, surprise—white, the legs squealing like a mewling kitten looking for its mother.

It'd been a while since he'd seen any kind of doctor, the only people brave enough to see him his sister, his nurse, and a few run of the mill patients that had gotten lost on their first day here. Everybody else, he tended to avoid. Or at least, that's what he told himself.

Mitsuhashi Medical was a large hospital located in the heart of Tokyo, right in downtown Shinjuku. It had a sister college up north by the same name and from time to time college students, studying hard to become doctors, would make their own sort of sacred pilgrimage over to see—and sometimes work—the grand hospital known throughout Japan.

But it also had a darker side. The truth was, Mitsuhashi was a great hospital, but… not in the sense that everyone thought. Being a large hospital, it had many wings interconnected through widened hallways and back stairwells, ranging from pediatrics to an intensive care unit to trauma. All fine and dandy in their own rights, but Mitsuhashi was actually known for its asylum. That's right. An insane asylum, located on the fourth wing, completely blocked off from the throes of the world. Just patients, gaggles of them, staying in the burning white rooms, each with their own set of insecurities and problems. There was a rumor that spread a couple years ago about how once someone got into Mitsuhashi's infamous fourth wing, they never left. Of course, the hospital was the first to call foul play, but even then, it was fairly obvious to all parties involved that that was a load of bull.

Especially Shinobu. He'd been here since he was thirteen and he knew almost every single patient by reputation or otherwise. Ever since he'd been admitted, he hadn't seen the outside world except through his panoramic window overlooking the city. At first, it'd been cool; he could see everything, everyone, and they were none the wiser. Often, but especially as a young adolescent boy, he would make up stories about those passing by, often tragic, filled with cheating spouses, maniacal neighbors, and the occasional rabid dog. They were so incredibly disturbing, in fact, that all the nurses charged with his care often left with pallid cheeks, skin clammy to the touch. That was even more interesting, Shinobu had decided. They worked in an insane asylum, for God's sake!—and they couldn't even handle the overactive imagination of a young boy hardly even a teenager.

Still, to someone like Shinobu, even that microscopic amusement wore off fairly quickly. He had no friends—made none, actually, as all the people he could communicate with were either drugged out of their minds or terribly noisy—and he saw no purpose for it. The people here, he'd reasoned out a long, long time ago, were crazy, completely and utterly dim-witted. He was not. In fact, if he was being completely honest, he didn't belong here at all. He wasn't crazy, just… misunderstood, as clichéd as that sounded.

After all, what would you do if doctors said you were going to die in the next five years?

He could still feel it, that night, dark and prosperous as it was. The rain was slick, slimy, and it coated his skin with minimal resistance. He couldn't remember why he'd been outside, outside in that pouring, disgusting rain, but he did remember the feeling of it as it fell over his skin, over and over, the droplets fat enough to inflame his freezing skin. He remembered the dull lilt of the knife, glistening silently in the seething darkness, and the feeling as his hands grasped the handle, almost reverently. He could remember placing it to his chest and slowly, slowly submerging it in, hoping his heart's beating would match it there…

But that was all. Next thing he knew, he was in some hospital room, so brightly lit that it scorched his eyes, bright gauze bandages outlining his chest. He'd awoken to his sister's sleeping face, the wrinkles of nearly thirty extra years added in that night alone prominent, and the surprising (or perhaps not so surprising now) absence of his parents. The clock had read 3:02 A.M.—the witching hour, he remembered sardonically—and unable to fall back asleep, he'd simply watched his sister sleep fitfully until the morning's dawn broke.

Even now, he wished the blade had dug in a little deeper, maybe been a little quicker. If he had sharpened it before hand… but once he was here, in the fourth wing at Mitsuhashi Medical's infamous hospital, he could barely piss without the feeling of eyes watching his every move. Patients, once registered, wore bright white robes teething at the bottom with frilly lace, their showers scheduled at the same time every morning—5:00 A.M. Then they were expected an hour for breakfast, another two for some inane morning project (the nurses called it "artistic therapy", Shinobu called it stupid), an hour for exercise (which was just basically a lot of the patients milling about unless they were expected to play some childish game of kickball), another hour for lunch, and then the rest of the afternoon was spent in what the doctors called "school," though it was hardly more than a glorified babysitter's break. Then they were all expected to be in bed by nine and the next day repeated just the same. And the next. And the next. And then the next after that. No changes, no surprises. Just a sort of everyday mundane every patient had been forced into, willingly or not.

Shinobu shivered and drew his legs close to his chest. What was taking that damned doctor so long anyways? All this was a waste of time, especially now.

Everything was a waste of time now.

Shinobu glanced over at the clock, forcing his eyes to avoid the calendar at all costs. He wouldn't do it to himself, he couldn't… but it was no use. His peripheral had caught the brightened headline and he felt his breath catch as though someone had plucked it from him.

_May_.

It was… May already? No, no, that couldn't possibly be right… Hell, the last time he'd checked it been January. Had four months already passed by and he hadn't even noticed?

As if to mock him, a jiggling doorknob met his ears; and, as though he'd been scolded, he dropped his eyes and looked everywhere but the calendar, finding a spot of interest on the rough mahogany desk. He wasn't sure why he was so jumpy, but it might've had to do with the fact…

"Ah! I'm terribly sorry for the wait!" Mild—that was his doctor, breaking into his thoughts like a seasoned criminal, his footsteps soft, almost humbled even. He was a dark-haired man, with terribly beautiful seasoned blue eyes and taller than anyone Shinobu had ever met. Kusama Nowaki—that was his name, this god of a man—and it was fitting. For someone who'd come into Shinobu's life so suddenly, he was exactly like a typhoon, large and elegant and able to take your breath away. The white lab coat he wore did him no justice.

Nowaki wasn't, in the technical sense, Shinobu's actual doctor. His actual doctor was a man aging well into his seventies, with snow white hair and an unnaturally healthy flush to his cheeks. That man, Shinobu always noted with disgust, was nice enough when it came to, but he was _too_ nice, if you could gather what he was putting down. The guy had outright ogled Shinobu on more than one occasion, and had actually gathered enough gall to touch him. Of course, a glare that could've frozen hell and the slightest pressure on his wrist didn't exactly hurt either. After that incident, the doctor had stopped seeing him less and less until Nowaki had become an almost permanent fixture in the office.

He was so different too. He was the kind of guy that always listened to Shinobu, even when he was just ranting about whatever his thoughts stumbled across. It pained him to admit this, but Nowaki had also seen him… cry… on more than one occasion and had—here Shinobu blushed, remembering the incident—actually held him until the surprise had been too much and the tears had stopped staining his coat. A small part of him knew that it was a little unethical—patients and their doctors had to stay strictly professional—but every time he thought about it, instead of being disgusted like he was with his other doctor, he felt strangely happy. Like some stupid maiden in love, his stomach would do dumb little somersaults, his heart beating a mile a minute. Nowaki was fairly oblivious to this and for that, Shinobu was grateful. He didn't know if he could face the doctor if he found out about his little 'crush' he'd developed on him.

Shinobu snorted. _Leave it to me to fall in love with my doctor. I'm hopeless_.

"Shinobu-kun?"

That was another thing; once Shinobu had realized his feelings for the raven-haired doctor, he'd practically begged to be called Shinobu. Nowaki had looked a little puzzled, but then he'd smile that smile that said everything would be alright and met halfway with Shinobu-kun. It was still too formal for the pale-eyed boy's liking, but he supposed it would suffice for now. He felt his cheeks flush as he remembered the first time he'd heard his name tumble from those perfect lips, the idea of kissing them almost too great to pass up. He'd managed, of course, but not without difficulty and a tent slowly growing to salute. He sighed, imagining that mahogany desk clear and clean, scattered papers littering the ground like large, overgrown petals, the feeling of his back digging into the delicate curve as Nowaki hovered over him, his own large hands running over his own length before smiling—not condescendingly, definitely not—but sweetly, serenely, the smile then morphing into lips as open-mouthed kisses lined his abdomen and Nowaki slowly slid inside—

He was quickly and efficiently snapped out of his daydream when he felt a warm hand touch his forehead, the doctor's face incredibly close. He was frowning, his dark blue eyes narrowed slightly, his lips parted as if confused. "Shinobu-kun… Do you have a fever?"

Like he'd been burned, Shinobu leaped as far away from the hand as his chair would allow before he quickly shook his head. "N-no, I'm perfectly fine! N-nothing's wrong!" Damn it, he was stuttering, but with Nowaki so close, his hand touching him so gently… It wasn't fair. How could one man be so gorgeous?

Nowaki looked a little taken aback, but then, probably used to similar reactions from other patients, he let the matter drop and smiled brilliantly. "Well, I'm relieved. I was sure that Shinobu-kun was getting sick and I was a bit worried…"

Shinobu felt his breath slide away, his eyes widening impossibly. Wait… he hadn't just said… that…

Had he?

Blushing profusely, Shinobu wasn't aware he'd been moving until he was hovering directly over Nowaki, finally staring down into his eyes since the doctor was seated. His eyes caught those lips again and, involuntarily, he licked his own like Nowaki was a piece of delicious candy waiting to be devoured. Said doctor looked up, confused smile in place, but to Shinobu, it was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen.

_May_.

Suddenly he didn't care. He couldn't. It was May… according to his doctors, he had roughly three weeks to live, give or take a little, and then… it'd be over. His life… wouldn't exist anymore…

Heat gathered in his face, not from embarrassment this time, but from fear, from the pathetic denial he'd been living in since he'd been diagnosed nearly five years ago. It wasn't fair. Even now, pathetic as he was, it just wasn't fair. Why was he stuck here in some damned hospital, unable to leave, taunted by the outside every day of his life? Why did he have to fall in love with someone—a guy, no less, who was nearly ten years his senior, his doctor? Why did he…?

Suddenly, he felt a warm hand cup his face and startled, he glanced down into kind blue eyes. He hadn't realized how kind these eyes were until now, the specks of blue swirling and dancing like little sakura petals. If he was being honest, he didn't care about how corny that sounded. He just… wanted those eyes to be looking at him like that, always, forever and ever, as if he was the only person in the world…

It happened so suddenly that Shinobu still, to this day, was unaware of how something so cataclysmic could happen so quickly. Like a pendulum that swings against a line of dominoes, the reaction was sudden and violent.

Or in his case, simply violent.

"Right! Well, I'm here now! See you later!" It was a man, with a pair of darkly polished dress pants and a gray button up shirt fitted with a matching tie. In his hand was an older looking cell phone, his knuckles reaching an ungodly white as he gripped it tightly against his ear. Hanging in his other hand was a shoddy black briefcase—his mouth a cigarette. Shinobu stared at him, recognition flashing almost instantaneously in his eyes stained with verdigris, and he gaped. Then, as if he'd been burned, he quickly pushed Nowaki's hand away and retreated to the far side of the room, pretending to find interest in some of the medical books littering the desks.

_Dorland's Illustrated Medical Dictionary… CT Colonography: Principles and Practices of Virtual Colonoscopy… The Brain Atlas…_

Nowaki gave a worried glance in his direction, but instead of pursuing it, he quickly stood up to greet the new visitor. "Miyagi-san! It's been ages since I've seen you last!" At that, Shinobu's ears perked up ten-fold. They… knew each other? But from where? How? And was it just his imagination, or did Nowaki sound almost angry? Glancing over at the usually docile doctor, Shinobu's eyes widened.

Okay, scratch that. He almost looked pissed. If humans had the innate ability to shoot daggers from their eyes, then Miyagi would be scoured on the floor, dead. Noticing this, said aforementioned man smirked like a lion staking its claim and walked over to Nowaki to reciprocate a handshake. "You too! It's been what… nearly an entire year?" He whistled. "Time sure does fly when you're _having fun_." Shinobu didn't miss the emphasis on those last two word, or the way Nowaki's hand tightened almost imperceptibly around the other, though that smile still never left his face.

"I'm sure." As if he'd been holding it for far too long, Nowaki dropped his hand and stepped back, waving his hand dismissively. "But now isn't the time to talk about that. You might not be aware, but hospitals are quite busy places. Let's get started, shall we?"

The man smirked and placed the unlit cigarette in his mouth away for a later usage. "Of course, of course. Now, where's this little 'Shinobu-kun' you told me about? Still with his mom or something?"

Shinobu felt his back stiffen, his fingers curling against the freezing glass. He felt a growl borough deep in his throat, but after a moment, calmed himself enough to send the man an icy glare. Said man, feeling the dagger-like eyes piercing his skin, turned towards Shinobu, a confused half-smile on his face, unlit cigarette dangling precariously, his eyes taking note of Shinobu's… everything, from his pale verdigris eyes, his permanent scowl, his hand clutching the window in a vice-like death grip.

Recognition flashed.

"Oh, oh hell no…" he breathed, the confused half-smile gone, replaced with a frown. "This has gotta be some sick joke…"

Nowaki, oblivious, or perhaps simply ignoring him, called Shinobu forth, his own kindred smile beautifully fastened. "Miyagi-san, I would like to introduce you to Shinobu-kun." Miyagi's brows perked at the name, though much to his credit, he didn't say anything. "Shinobu-kun, I would like to introduce to you…" But Nowaki trailed off as Shinobu came closer, his eyes still locked in that scary glare, his mouth ground into a line.

"'Shinobu-kun?'" This time it was Miyagi who spoke, his cigarette falling through his teeth as though it disintegrated. "As in, Takatsuki Shinobu-kun? As in…"

"Takatsuki Risako's younger brother? Yes." His answer was clipped, to the point, though his eyes were still narrowed as if Miyagi was the worst scum of the earth.

"It's good to see you again, _giri no ani*_."

XXX

*****_**Giri no ani**_** is the Romanization for brother-in-law.**

**It's good to see you again! I hope you enjoyed this chapter, and I can't wait to update again! See ya soon!**

**Oh, and as always, REVIEW! :D **


	3. Chapter 3

**DISCLAIMER: I DON'T OWN JUNJOU ROMANTICA! THOUGH IF I DID… *SWOONS***

XXX

"You two… know each other?"

As if they'd forgotten Nowaki was there, both Shinobu and Miyagi whipped their heads to meet his gaze, both startled like frightened deer on the highway. Seeing it was just the doctor, Shinobu coughed, while Miyagi placed another unlit cigarette in his mouth.

Annoyed, Shinobu glared at Miyagi—or rather, the cigarette dangling from his mouth. "I see you haven't gotten rid of that disgusting habit. You're in a hospital. You can wait till you get outside."

Miyagi laughed, though it was anything but amicable. "Yeah, well, I see you haven't learned to respect your elders." Glancing over at Nowaki, Miyagi smiled—he looked like a rabid dog, ready to attack.

"Yeah, we know each other—have ever since he was a little kid." Patronizingly, he rubbed his hand on Shinobu's head, laughing as he batted away the offending appendage as though he was a kitten playing with yarn. Or a giant swatting away a fly.

"Risako and I—that is to say, his older sister and I—were married. _Were_," he quickly cut in at Nowaki's darkening face. This went unnoticed by Shinobu, who'd developed an incredible interest in the wooden floorboard closest to the window.

"Well, I would hope you'd be after what you did to her…" Shinobu muttered, voice low. Miyagi pretended not hear him.

"So, you two…" Nowaki scratched his head as though he was a confused puppy; then, he smiled. "You're related?" At the grimaces that passed both their faces, Nowaki quickly corrected with, "_Were_related?"

"Heh!" Shinobu's laugh was vitriolic, biting. "Don't remind me." But Nowaki noticed something… off about Shinobu. His words were big, and he didn't seem saddened… but—and here he wasn't entirely sure—Shinobu sounded almost… wounded, in a sense, as if Miyagi had taken his puppy and beaten it to smithereens. Miyagi, on the other hand, just chuckled a little, his cigarette dangling, his eyes looking everywhere but Shinobu's own. Neither said anything for a good moment, their eyes looking everywhere but at each other, their arms crossed, brows furrowed in a frown. They looked like little children, both under the assumption they were right, both petulant, angry at the other, not willing to apologize until someone made forced them to do it.

Nowaki chuckled and Shinobu glanced back, gawking.

"This makes things easier, at any rate. Since you two know each other, there isn't any reason for us to go through an orientation. We could get started on the tests, if you prefer—"

But Miyagi placed his hands up, effectively cutting Nowaki off. "Sorry, but no can do. I'm not helping my ex's ungrateful little brother. You can just forget it."

"But Miyagi-san—"

"I agree." Shinobu's voice was low, impossibly low, his head bowed as though he was praying. Nowaki couldn't tell what kind of expression he was making. "I mean, his organs probably wouldn't help me anyways. I'd probably have some sort of reaction to it and die." Glancing up, Nowaki was surprised to see Shinobu's face lit up in a brilliant smile. "He should just go home if he can't help me. Isn't that right, Miyagi?"

Miyagi's brow twitched; and, with careful precision, he plucked the cigarette out of his mouth, crumbling it into dust. "You don't think my organs can help you?"

Shinobu glanced up slyly, and suddenly, Nowaki knew all too well what he was doing. "I'm not saying _that_." He chuckled as if Miyagi had told him some all-encompassing joke. "I'm just saying that maybe your organs wouldn't be… smart enough to handle my body. Why use lower quality if it has no chance of working at all?"

"Are you calling me stupid?"

Shinobu smirked. "If the shoe fits…"

Momentarily, the room was dead silent, save for the sound of Nowaki and Miyagi's gentle exhales. After a moment, Miyagi laughed and glared at Shinobu, a silent challenge lighting his eyes.

"I'll have you know, Shinobu-chin," Shinobu glowered at the nickname, though made no comment, "that my organs aren't 'low quality.' In fact, according to some people", he glanced over at Nowaki, then continued, "I'm the only one who can help save your pathetic excuse for a life." He laughed as Shinobu's eyes narrowed. "I figured you'd be begging me to help you, not insulting me. And to think I was going to do this from the goodness of my heart…"

Nowaki whistled lowly, not expecting such a heated response from the usually reclusive teacher. He watched on, intent, curious how Shinobu would react to it. Would he cry? Would he become angry and throw a temper tantrum? Would he—?

But Shinobu did none of those things. In fact, he did nothing at all; he just stood there, staring at Miyagi's smug face, thoughts dancing behind those calculating eyes of his. Finally, he laughed—he laughed so hard, in fact, that tears gathered at the corner of his eyes. Miyagi's smug smile was replaced with a confused frown.

"Don't be ridiculous, Miyagi. You think I need you? Ha!" Shinobu finally met Miyagi's eyes, his own burning with an unquenchable fire. Seething, he said lowly, "I can find anyone to replace you. _Anyone_. Don't think you're special just because you were chosen from some random hospital computer." And with that, Shinobu glanced at Nowaki, his normally petulant scowl plastered on his face.

"I'm going back to my room, sensei." Then, more to himself, "This was a waste of my time."

"Wait!"

Shinobu glanced back at Miyagi, that terrifying smile still plastered on his face. "Yes, Miyagi-san? Is there something you need?"

"I… I…" Miyagi seemed at a loss for words, which was a first since he'd entered the office. Then, glaring, "Don't underestimate me! My organs are just as good as anyone else's!" At Shinobu's deadpan, he sputtered. "W-what? It's true! I can do just as well as anyone else! Be prepared to have my organs, Shinobu!"

"So you'll be my donor?"

"Yes, of cours—"And then, as if he were a soldier who'd given national secrets away on enemy soil, he paled, his mouth opening, closing, opening as if he was a fish floundering on the pier for water. Glancing at the youth, he saw an impish smile resting on his face.

"Looks like I win, _Mi-ya-gi_."

And Miyagi, with nothing else better to say, uttered dumbly, "You little terrorist."

XXX

**So, this is shorter than what I normally do, but I hope it was enjoyable nonetheless. If you liked the chapter, disliked the chapter, or just love me as a person (I know I do) then please leave a review! Thank you!**

**Also, a big shout-out to MONYMOON98 for editing this chapter for me! You rock, girl! I SHALL MAKE IT RAIN WITH GLITTER ON YOUR PARADE!**

***brushes hands together***

***puffs of glitter fly everywhere* **


	4. Chapter 4

**DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN JUNJOU ROMANTICA! IF I DID, I'D BE LIKE OPRAH AND SEND THE MANGA TO **_**EVERYBODY**_**!**

XXX

Apparently, their argument had developed quite an audience.

Risako rushed in, wondering why on earth her brother was so excited, worried he was disrupting the other patients. His father followed shortly after, his own crinkled face pulled into a tight frown, a nervous drip of sweat falling down his forehead. And his mother… well, she was brightly smiling, oblivious, most likely having already taken her anxiety pills for the day.

They all had yet to notice Miyagi in the room.

"Kusama-sensei, what on earth—" But Risako stopped cold as she finally noticed the other occupant in the room. "Kusama… sensei," she gritted out, her face deathly white. "Why is he here?"

Nowaki laughed nervously, rubbing the back of his head in embarrassment. "Well, you see, he's—"

With a little wave of his hand, Miyagi said, "It's good to see you again too, Risako." She didn't do anything as childish as flinch, though she did recoil as if he was some poisonous fungus in the countryside. With a disinterested look in his eyes, he said, "How've you been?"

Risako's glare rivaled her little brother's, seeming to promise death one hundred times over. Even so, her voice was lithe, monotonous; not seething with unsuppressed anger, like Nowaki expected, or crackling with pain like Shinobu feared. She just seemed… disinterested, as if Miyagi was nothing better than an annoying insect buzzing about her head. "I've been fine," she said slowly, her eyes looking anywhere but Miyagi. "But I would be even better if you told me _why_ you were here." Glancing at Nowaki, her gaze sized him up. "Well?"

Miyagi answered for him. "I'm your kid brother's organ donor." Both Takatsuki siblings' eyes narrowed, though much to their credit, they didn't say anything. At Risako's deadpan, Miyagi stared straight into her eyes. "Is there something the matter?"

Risako met his gaze for a few seconds, sizing him up, before she snorted and turned towards Nowaki. "Sensei, I thought you said you'd found a dependable organ donor for Shinobu."

Nowaki smiled—a real Nowaki smile, not one of the fake ones he'd been using since Miyagi had entered the office. "I did."

"…And?"

At this, Nowaki chuckled nervously, something unbecoming for a doctor his age. "In my defense, Risako-san, this man has one of the most compatible organs for Shinobu-kun. Considering time was of the essence, I figured you wouldn't care who it was as long as the organ was compatible…"

Risako's eyes narrowed, and she crossed her arms over her chest, thinking. After a moment, she said, "Kusama-sensei, are you sure there isn't… anyone else? Anyone at all?"

Nowaki glanced at Shinobu and shrugged. "I'm afraid not, Risako-san—unless you're willing to send him to a foreign doctor, that is. They can probably do more than we can."

"Isn't that why we came here though?" Risako asked, her eyes narrowed, hands on her hips. "I thought this WAS the best."

Nowaki smiled brightly. "In Japan, yes. Now, you're more than welcome to go to America or England, but I'm afraid that Shinobu-kun doesn't have much time left." His eyes found Shinobu, the goofy doctor from just moments ago gone as though he was a dandelion floating in the wind.

Shinobu refused to meet his eyes and the impish child from only moments prior had disappeared, replaced with a boy entrusted with too much responsibility, with too much heartache for his age. His arms were crossed loosely over his torso and Nowaki noticed how every now and again, he would shiver like a tiny Chihuahua in the middle of winter. Nowaki kept staring at him, barely registering Risako's voice.

"Sensei, there has to be something else—Shinobu?" At Shinobu's glare, Risako frowned. "Shinobu, are you okay? You look a bit…"

"I'm _fine_," he hissed, though his body shook even more, if it was possible. "Just a little…"

"Shinobu-kun."

Shinobu glanced back, his face flushed, his breathing labored. His met Nowaki's and, instead of turning away blushing like he normally would, he coughed a little into his fist. "Y… yes?" His throat felt thick, like a mixture of molasses and honey, and no matter what he did, he couldn't seem to clear it. "What is it, sensei…?"

Nowaki gave him a small half-smile before he turned to the other occupants in the room. "Takatsuki-san, I'm going to have to ask you to take your wife and daughter and head home for today." Risako opened her mouth to object, but Nowaki beat her to it. "Risako-san, I'm sorry, but Shinobu-kun doesn't need the added stress right now. His body can't handle it."

Risako eyes widened and then, slowly, she nodded, mouth gaping like a fish. "O-of course sensei." She bowed lowly. "Please help my brother in whatever way possible."

Nowaki nodded. "I'll do best, Risako-san. Please leave the rest to me." And with these words, he silently grabbed Shinobu's shoulder, smiling when two dazed eyes met his own. "Alright Shinobu-kun," he cooed, his hand tight, reassuring, "I'll be taking you back to your room, okay?" Shinobu, in all his muddled glory, nodded slightly and leaned his entire weight into Nowaki, who took it with practiced ease. They walked past the congregation, ignoring the saddened eyes of Risako, the deep-set frown of Shinobu's father. As though silently communicating, the family shared a glance; then, nodding, they trailed behind, leaving a startled Miyagi in the office. Minutes passed; then, the door slammed open and Risako came in, grabbing Miyagi's ear and pulling him out with her.

XXX

"Ouch! Risako, that hurts! Let go!" Miyagi tried desperately to pull free, but to no avail. Risako's grip was strong, even after all this time—why, he could remember when she'd grab his head similar to this in the throes of passion—

"Miyagi."

He glanced up, surprised they'd stopped. "What? Are you going to chew me out some more? Make me feel like an ass? Tell me that you'd rather take your chances in America—"

"Miyagi." She sounded exasperated and it was at that moment that Miyagi realized how… tired she looked. Her skin was grey, sagging, dark circles buried deep under her eyes. Her hair was limp, hanging precariously over her shoulders and her clothes looked as though they hadn't been washed in days. All in all, she looked like hell.

"Miyagi… Yoh, I'm… sorry for what I said earlier. I…" She took a deep breath, her chest constricted, tears forming at the corners of her eyes. "I just… I want the best for Shinobu, you know? And…" She sucked in a deep breath, trying desperately not to cry. "I'm afraid, Yoh. I'm afraid that… that he won't make it till next month, till next _week_… I'm just so afraid Yoh. I'm scared he'll…"

And, as if a dam had burst, she started sobbing, tears soaking her face, her sentence—and its implication—hanging heavily in the air. Miyagi, glancing around in discomfiture, sighed before he took Risako in his arms, his breath sending calming ripples through her body, his hands rubbing soothing circles on her back. A few moments later, she tentatively returned the hug, her tear-soaked face wetting his shoulder, her lips only centimeters away from his neck. It would be so easy for her to kiss that skin, to try and rekindle the feelings they'd had such a long time ago, to feel his warm hands as he took her in his grasp…

Risako laughed into his neck. "It's strange," she said, her hands rubbing small circles on his broad shoulder-blades. "Back then, I would've given anything to have you hold me like this, to hold me like you wanted me." She laughed bitterly, the sound watery and distorted. More tears fell. "But that was never possible, was it? Because… because…" As if it was too painful, she pressed her face into his neck, noting how cold and smooth it felt, like glass—noting the lack of heat that would've been a dead giveaway he was blushing. "I… I'm sorry, Yoh… I still… want you…"

"Risako, you're just emotional right now. You don't mean what you're saying." He gave a half-sympathetic, half-icy glare down at her head, noting how her hands froze on his shoulders, a deep gasp uttered in his neck. Disentangling herself from his body, she seemed to be thinking, her thoughts far away, struggling internally with some unseen issue. Then, like a pencil snapping, she seemed to remember where she was and she stepped back, her black hair fluttering over her hair with little resistance.

"I'm sorry, Miyagi! I shouldn't have—"

"Are you done crying?"

"Huh?" Risako glanced at him and suddenly, she saw him. Not the man who'd presented himself to the doctor and Shinobu, not the man she'd introduced to her parents, but the man he was this entire time—the man he was through their entire marriage. The man that didn't care, no matter what she did.

Or how hard she tried.

"Mi… yagi?" She'd being lying if it said it didn't hurt, this rejection, this disinterest in everything that revolved around her as a person. She loved him, but…

_Don't think about it_, she chided. _Don't let it bother you_.

But it did. It bothered her so much, this jealously, this neutrality he'd developed towards her even before they'd gotten married. Tears stung her eyes. Miyagi wasn't hers, nor had he ever been. He was always simply…

"Risako?"

"…Why?" Her voice was low, impossibly low, her face downcast as she stared at the shiny linoleum indigenous to hospitals. "Why are you… doing this?" She still refused to meet his eyes. "What are you trying to prove?"

Miyagi glanced at her, noting how haggard she looked even after crying, and sighed before he cracked his shoulders, startling Risako out of her thoughts. "What kind of person do you think I am? Do you honestly think I'm some heartless ass?"

_Yes_, her mind uttered. _You're the traitor_. But instead, she said, "No… But Miyagi, there has to be more to it." He glanced away, not giving her the satisfaction of watching him squirm under her gaze. Risako noticed this, though she hardly said anything. "Is it some sort of loyalty to me? An… apology?"

Miyagi didn't miss a beat. "No."

Risako's eyes closed and she bit her lower lip, nodding. "So if it's not for me and not for you…" But suddenly, a light twinkled in her eyes, and she glanced up, recognition flashing across her face. "It's for that woman, isn't it?" At Miyagi's hard glance away, Risako felt a desperate laugh bubble up in her chest. "It is, isn't it, you depreciating ass. Even after all these years—" But before Risako could finish, she caught Miyagi's eye.

She really wished she hadn't. The only thing that greeted her was barely concealed rage, his eyes wide, his mouth set in a hard line. Risako gulped, though in some deep, twisted part of her soul, she was glad. This just proved that he could make other faces other than the one that held nothing for her. Even if it was hate.

"I don't have to explain myself to you." Miyagi's eyes were livid when he turned to walk away. "If you're done, I'll be taking my leave now."

His voice seemed to bite into her, like she was some unfortunate balloon that had flown into a lumberjack's ax, breaking her into a million pieces. She didn't want him to leave. She didn't want him to leave! Pathetically she raised her hand, as it to stop him.

Pathetically she stood there, watching him walk away from her forever.

XXX

**Please review! **


	5. Chapter 5

**DISCLAIMER: I DON'T OWN JUJOU ROMANTICA! ENJOY THE STORY THOUGH!**

XXX

**Chapter 5**

Miyagi wasn't sure where he was going.

After Risako's little outburst, he was starting to feel things—grief, despair, the feeling of life being impossible—that he hadn't felt in years. He hadn't felt them since…

He shook his head, hoping to dislodge the painful memories, hoping to dislodge Risako's voice, her reasoning… She was right, he knew, so terribly, terribly right. Even so, it gave her no right to attack the only woman he'd loved in his entire life.

Scratch that. The only _person_ he'd loved in his entire life.

She was right though. He'd married her, hoping to forget, thinking that maybe all it would take to move on would be someone else. How stupid of him. He knew, even when they had started dating, that there would be no one that could replace _her_, his lover…

His teacher.

But he'd tried, and God knows that was a tragedy. He'd tried desperately to love Risako, to make her his number one in his life, to be there for her even when things got tough. He'd taken her out to fancy restaurants, the aquarium, sometimes to the park where they'd watch the stars together—he'd taken her everywhere, and yet, he'd taken her nowhere at all. Even when they were dating—hell, even when they'd started talking to each other—he knew that, deep down, the only reason he was taking her to these places was far from love. No; if anything, it was an apology—an apology to his teacher, the woman who'd never had a chance—for never taking her places, for never somehow forcing his way to be her number one, for never saving her, even when he had the power to…

He stopped, breathing heavily, his hands on his knees. It hurt, he realized, more than anything he'd ever felt in his entire life. That day, he'd brought her here—a general checkup or something of the like—after sneaking her out in a wheelchair, away from her worried parents and siblings and doctors who only wished to help.

And yet, he'd taken her selfishly away from that, from everything, in hopes that maybe, just maybe, she would return his feelings; would smile up at him in the way that said, "Everything is going to be okay," and then, would kiss him—lightly, not even on the mouth—to cement their bond. He'd desperately wished for that… But even back then, he knew how adamant his teacher was about them remaining strictly student-teacher, about keeping their personal feelings out of the relationship no matter how much both of them wanted otherwise.

He smirked, though it was bitter, self-depreciating. She was drugged up on some new medicine, he remembered, too tired to say no. But even then, she knew what he was doing. As he got her ready to leave, she just stared at him, her grey-blue eyes searching, a knowing light settled deep in their wake, her mouth graced with a frown. He'd tried desperately not to look at her, to see the disappointment in those beautiful irises—to see his manic face reflected back at him. He couldn't take it—rather, he wouldn't. He knew it would break him, destroy the tiniest semblance of sanity he had left since this whole affair had started in the first place.

Affair.

Even now, the word left a strange taste in his mouth, some part of him angry that he would view his precious time with Sensei as though it was some one-night stand. But according to her family and the law, that's what it was. Their relationship was hectic, scandalous—not illegal, thank goodness, though that didn't stop her family from trying—just an all around mess that neither of them had ever been prepared to enter.

They hadn't been prepared at all.

Glancing up, Miyagi realized that he'd stopped in the middle of the corridor, an unlit cigarette dangling in his mouth. He wasn't sure how it got there. But then again, he wasn't sure of a lot of things when he thought of Sensei. In fact, if he was being completely honest, he'd only started smoking because he'd overheard her—when she was young, laughing, _healthy_—telling another teacher how much she liked an idol because he smoked. That'd been before Miyagi had known she was sick, before he'd known of his feelings that now felt as though they'd always existed, deep in his heart.

"It's strange," he mused, Risako's voice echoing eerily in his ear, "I can't even remember a time where I didn't love you. I can't remember a time before you, Sensei."

"Um, sir?"

"Even now I feel like I can hear your voice…"

"Sir? He-llo?" Suddenly, Miyagi saw a hand in his face and, startled, he fell backwards, his ass making an obnoxious thump on the linoleum. In front of him stood a young woman with shocking green eyes and loud blonde hair, her body bathed in the soft white of hospital scrubs, her hands holding a clipboard. She was looking at him expectantly, her head cocked to the side quizzically, a small frown marring her petite features. She looked confused.

"Excuse me, sir," she started, but then stopped, regarding him through two curious eyes. "Are you here to see someone?"

"E-excuse me?"

"Are you here to see someone?" She stopped again, placing a hand up to her mouth. "I-I'm sorry, but if you're not, I'm going to have to ask you to leave…"

"Oh… Oh!" Quickly, Miyagi stood up, dusting off the non-existent dust lining his coat. He bowed lowly. "I'm sorry for the trouble…" He glanced at her nametag. "Rita-sensei. It seems I got lost when I was looking for the toilet!" Although he laughed, the woman still looked troubled, as if she didn't believe him for a second. Her eyes seemed to bore into him, almost as if she asking him a silent question, her hands clasped tightly over her clipboard.

Awkwardly, he stopped laughing.

"Sir…"

Waving his hands in his face, he chuckled. "Don't worry about it. I was just leaving." And, before she could say anything else, he turned abruptly, cigarette falling out of his mouth like a flower's petal. Damn, he really needed to stop doing that. At this rate, he'd be out of an entire pack before lunch.

But just as he turned, he saw something. At the end of the hall, jarringly open, a door faced his way, bright drawings of bunnies and puppies and everything else a child found entertaining lining its surface, the only semblance of adult society an old, worn-out nameplate that appeared almost jaded. It was completely out of place for something so obviously childish.

Even so, that wasn't what caught his attention. Well, it was, but it was more the writing on it than anything else.

_Takatsuki._

Glancing back at the nurse, he uttered quietly, "Who's room is that?"

"Huh?" The nurse looked to where he was pointing and, with a furrow of her brow, referred to her clipboard. Then, smiling brightly, she said, "Oh, that's Takatsuki Shinobu-san—" But before she could finish, Miyagi was already stalking past her, his eyes wide, his hand reaching out slowly, as though if he touched the door it would fade away into nothing but dust…

"Wait!" the girl cried, her semblance of professionalism gone like the wind. "You can't go in there—"

She was stopped by the intensity of Miyagi's stare. "It's fine," he said, his eyes boring into hers. "I'm his… brother."

Her eyes blinked at rapid fire. "I wasn't aware that there was another sibling in the Takatsuki family…"

"Yep." He gave her his best gentleman-like smile, causing a hot flush to develop on her cheeks. "Is it… Can I go see him now?"

"Oh! Yes, of course!" Smiling, she pointed to the slightly ajar door at the end of the hall, her smile rivaling that of one thousand light bulbs. "Please go right ahead!"

Miyagi smiled again. Then, quickly, before she could change her mind, he turned, his footsteps hurried on the shining linoleum. The nurse watched him go for a moment; then, with a little sigh, she turned, returning to her station, her footsteps echoing eerily, like tiny voices ricocheting off the walls of some insane asylum. Reaching her desk, she saw the doctor and, with a bright smile, she nodded to him and sat down, fully prepared to return to her work…

"Rita-san?"

Glancing up, she was surprised to see no one other than her doctor. Like a doe caught in the headlights, she blinked. "What is it, sensei?"

"Ah, well…" The doctor was a towering beast of a man, with dark hair and eyes almost bordering on dark indigo. His face, normally set in a scowl, was pulled down in a deep frown, his nose crinkled as though he smelled something foul in the air. In his hands was a patient's file, a scalpel hanging precariously through his fingertips.

"Takafumi-sensei?"

"Oh, right." As if he'd been in a trance, he glanced at Rita, his eyes captivating hers in a deep-rooted agreement. She couldn't help staring at the way his chest rippled when he talked, the way his hair fell almost messily over his eyes, sexily, like a god—

"…wondering if you had anything to do with it."

"H-huh?!" Rita asked, her concentration back like the snap of a whip. "I'm sorry—w-what did you say?"

Takafumi-sensei sighed. "I said, Rita-san," she flinched, because she knew how angry he could get when she wasn't paying attention, "do you know who that man was in Takatsuki's room? I don't recognize him and I was wondering if you knew anything about it."

"Oh, you mean Takatsuki-san's brother?" At Takafumi's blank look, she waved her hands nervously, laughing as she did. "He's uh… he's Takatsuki-san's brother. _Blood_ brother," she added, because she wasn't sure if it made a difference or not.

"There isn't another sibling in the Takatsuki family."

The woman smiled. "That's what I thought too, but he seemed like a nice enough guy—not a liar, by any means." At Takafumi-sensei's growl, Rita's eyes widened. "W-what? Is there something the matter sensei—"

But instead of answering her, Takafumi whipped around, his scrubs billowing behind him like a cape, his eyes narrowed in obvious distaste. The nurse, confused, gave one uncertain glance at her clipboard before she shook her head and quickly got up, running to keep up with Takafumi's long strides.

She didn't understand what was wrong. Takatsuki-san was visiting his brother, right? She didn't see why it was such a big deal to the doctor—

Suddenly, she ran into something, the force almost knocking her off her feet. Glancing up, she noted Takafumi's narrowed gaze, his clenched jaw; but what really caught her attention was what held his attention.

It was Takatsuki-san's room. Except, inside, there was no man, no brother.

There was no Takatsuki-san.

XXX

**Please review!**

**(Edited by monymoon98)**


	6. Chapter 6

**I GOT ACCEPTED TO MY FIRST CHOICE UNIVERSITY! BRB, GOTTA GO DANCE NAKED IN THE STREEEEEETTTT!~**

**DISCLAIMER: I DON'T OWN JUNJOU ROMANTICA! IT'S SIMPLY PERFECT FODDER FOR MY FANTASIES! **

XXX

**Chapter 5**

"Shinobu-kun, are you sure you're going to be okay?"

Shinobu glanced up, though whether he was looking at Nowaki was another issue entirely. His face was flushed, his eyes drooping, his mouth open in a silent plea. He looked as though he'd fallen to the precipice of death—a thought Nowaki did not want to think about. His hands were clasped lightly around the bright white sheet, the pillow sagging from years and years of misuse. Nowaki frowned, but didn't dare go to fix it, knowing how fussy a certain blue-eyed individual could get…

"No… wa… ki?" Shinobu's mouth seemed to be having trouble moving, his tongue cleaving to his jaw as though injured. Even though his mouth was moving, hardly any sound was coming out. Nowaki smiled reassuringly down at him, but even he could feel it was weak—and at Shinobu's watery eyes, he felt like kicking himself.

_Damn it,_ he scolded, not a cursing man by nature. _Just look at what you did. Now he's going to be too stressed to take his medicine— _

"N… Nowaki." With some difficulty he finished, his eyes still largely unfocused. "Don't be… sad…"

Nowaki smiled sadly. "Shinobu-kun, you need to rest. You overexerted yourself today, which you know isn't good in your condition." It took a moment, but Shinobu finally nodded, his movements slow. Nowaki smiled, this time like a mother coddling her young. "That's better. Now, I'm going to give you some pain medication, so be a good boy and take them, okay?" If this was the regular Shinobu-kun, he would've recoiled at the patronizing tone in the other's voice, telling him such things like, "I'm not a child," and, "Nowaki, I told you to call me Shinobu already!" But instead, he simply acquiesced by opening his mouth, his eyes half shut. Nowaki gave him a sympathetic smile before two brightly colored pills fell down his gullet.

Shinobu glanced up, his eyes crinkled in the closest thing Nowaki had seen to a smile on his face. Then, like a well-seasoned actor dying on stage, his eyes slid shut, slowly, slowly, his breathing evening out to a lithe escape of air.

He was asleep.

Sighing, Nowaki stepped back, pulling up the sheet as he did so. He glanced at Shinobu's intravascular drip, noting the steady _drip-drop_ as medicine entered his bloodstream; he analyzed the monitors, noting the lolling line that arched and dipped leisurely throughout, a sure sign he was sleeping; and then, with a little sigh, he went up to Shinobu, running his hands over his forehead, down the side of his neck, checking for a pulse…

He chuckled, the sound almost robotic—melancholic. His hand stopped its ministrations, poised directly over the gentle beating in his neck, his eyes hooded. He wouldn't cry, oh no; being a doctor for nearly ten years had left him all but immune to a patient's death. It wasn't like he was heartless—it still hurt, he knew, like a brand placed directly on his heart, but it hurt even more thinking about all the things he could've done to save them. Had he given them enough medicine? More than enough? Less? He measured everything down to the exact milliliter. Had he paid as much attention to them as he could? He worked nearly fifteen hour shifts—not including when he was on-call or any nights he was required to stay over. Had he, perhaps, misdiagnosed the patient to begin with? In his entire career as a doctor, all his patients were diagnosed correctly one hundred percent of the time.

All in all, it was madness, these questions—but the worst one of all, he mused, wasn't any of them. No, if he was being completely honest…

Did they die because of his ineptitude?

That question haunted him, sending him to sleep every night with a bottle of sake. It almost pushed him over the edge… It made him think of things better left unsaid. At the end of the day, he could be the most well-versed doctor in all of Japan—knowing every single worldly sickness, becoming a partner at some huge hospital—but it simply boiled down to whether he was fast enough or not. Sometimes, in cases like Shinobu's, the cause of illness was found late in childhood development—something that couldn't prepare him no matter how much he tried. Even so, he knew, both as a doctor and a man, that there were some things in life you couldn't prepare for at all. Be it good or bad, all of it would end when you died…

He shook his head, realizing he'd been hovering over Shinobu's slumbering body for much too long; not exactly good for a doctor of his standing. Retracting his hand, he gave one last sad look at Shinobu, his expression like a kicked puppy, before he shook his head and walked away.

As of right now, there was nothing he could do.

There was absolutely nothing he could do for Shinobu.

XXX

"S-Shin-kun?"

A timid voice. In a sense, it was loud, filling the room with its propensity, though the volume was hardly above a whisper. Two green eyes, the sight like crackling emeralds, glanced in the room, rosy cheeks and soft, supple skin glistening in the sweet sunlight. Brown hair stuck up at every angle, disheveled.

He was beautiful. For a boy, anyways.

"Shin-kun…" His voice bordered no louder than a whisper, all too fearful of any of the orderlies hearing him from their seemingly separated cubicles. "Shin—"

A moan of displeasure. "I heard you the first time, Mi-chan. I'm sick, not deaf."

"I know that!" The boy—or 'Mi-chan' as he was called—blushed a little, face lit in a fiery crimson. "And anyways, it's Misaki! _Mi-sa-ki_! Not 'Mi-chan!'"

Shinobu snorted, bemused. "Sure sure. Whatever you say, 'Mi-chan.'" Chuckling, he added, "Aren't you just mad because that's what _he_ calls you?"

"Usagi-san—," he stopped for a moment, his blunder all too clear, "I-I mean, Usami-san doesn't say anything like that! He's not weird like you!"

"So you guys are to that point, huh? First names?"

Misaki groaned. "Shin-kun…"

Not liking his tone, Shinobu's turned petulant. "Yeah, well, whatever," he settled with at last, his eyes narrowed into tiny slits, glaring out the window. "Must be nice to have someone like that. Did he buy you those clothes too?"

True enough, Takahashi Misaki's clothes were not the blaring sirens of hospital gowns, nor the dingy whites and browns that the hospital sometimes provided to its more… lucrative patients. No, in fact, his visage was far from any of that. A gray, steam-lined suit, accentuating his lithe hips and narrow shoulders—a fact that was probably done on purpose, mind you—flitted down to a pair of brand new black dress shoes, the light reflecting off of them like a warning. To draw it all together, his tie was a deep royal blue and—here Shinobu smirked internally, knowing his friend all too well—the knot was askew, the tie's edges uneven, like the cracks in an ancient sidewalk.

Regardless, he looked good, even… handsome, if Shinobu was being honest with himself. Yes, Usagi-san had taste; even he could admit.

That still didn't mean he liked the man though.

"…And they were gossiping about how you passed out and I got worried—Shin-kun?" A hand found its way in front of Shinobu's face, effectively cutting off the view of one of his best friends—his only friend, in fact.

Much as Shinobu was sometimes loath to admit.

Sighing, Shinobu said, "I heard you, okay? No need to get so excited…"

"But is it true? Did you really pass out? I heard that – ah, well, that Nowaki-sensei carried you… to your… room…" But towards the end of this, Misaki felt the temperature drop, the room becoming infinitely colder, the last circle of Hell making its stately appearance on earth. Gulping slightly, Misaki said, "Sh… Shinobu…?"

"What is it?" He hadn't meant for his response to come out so scathingly, but he couldn't exactly go back in time now, could he? Shaking his messy bed-head, he snapped, "What?"

"N-nothing…" Now Misaki was quiet, his freckled green eyes staring a hole through the floor, his lips parted. To anyone who didn't know Misaki, he probably looked like, and Shinobu quoted, "A poor little boy who just lost his virginity." Yep. That's exactly what an orderly said the first time she met Misaki—and exactly a month before he really _did_ lose his virginity. Quite an irony in Shinobu's book—one so entertaining, even, that he hadn't forgotten it to this day.

'This day' being two years later.

He was getting off topic. The point was, Misaki always had this look of severe concentration on his face, but sometimes—no, scratch that, all the time—he almost did look like a wounded puppy, kicked and berated by his master, unshed tears glistening behind his long eyelashes. Shinobu knew though. This look wasn't one of sadness, of defeat—it was, in all laughable consequences of humanity, his _determined_ face.

Poor kid—that was probably one of the reasons Usami had picked him, after all.

"Shin-kun?"

"Huh?" Startled out of his thoughts like a deer on the highway, Shinobu glanced up, eyes crinkled at the seams. "I told you, nothing's wrong. _You're_ the one who's acting strange." He paused. "Why are you acting so weird, anyways? Did something happen…?"

Very imperceptibly, Misaki nodded, his tongue moistening his pink lips. "A-actually… W-well, you know I don't like talking about this kind of stuff!"

Shinobu's eyes, even if only slightly, widened. "Y-you mean…"

"He's such an idiot!" Misaki grabbed his head in frustration, eyes popping in agitation. "He knows that I have to come back here and yet he—!" Seeming to reconsider, Misaki quirked the shoulder of his suit down, his face burning with embarrassment. There, a bright red mark stood prominently, even proudly against his shoulder-blade, a perfect crescent moon indented in his skin. Shinobu gasped, though it was far from surprise—if anything, it was the reaction he felt he should have, not his actual one. It wasn't really surprising though. He'd seen so many hickies on Misaki's neck that he probably knew their locations better than even Usami-san.

All the more reason to hate him, regardless.

Shinobu whistled lowly, mockingly. "So what did you do this time Mi-chan?"

"I didn't do anything! And don't call me Mi-chan!"

Shinobu didn't say anything, but his silence spoke volumes. Blushing profusely, Misaki looked down and muttered, "Seriously, he's just an idiot. A stupid, hormonal idiot." He sighed, closing those incredible green irises from the world. But even Shinobu, who was never really good with things like this, knew what he was thinking.

Sure, Usami was a hormonal idiot. But he was _Misaki's_ hormonal idiot.

Almost subconsciously, Shinobu ground his teeth together.

"So, Shin-kun…" Suddenly, quite so, Misaki's voice lowered, coming dangerously close to a whisper. Shinobu strained his ears to hear him. "I uh… well…" Looking embarrassed, Misaki muttered, "How… how are things with you and… well, you know…"

"Huh?" Shinobu was not amused. "What're you saying? Spit it out already, Misaki."

"You and… sensei…"

"Nowaki?!" Though there was enough venom in his voice to kill a viper, his voice remained at a whisper, eyes impassive. "_That's_ what you wanted to know?"

Misaki didn't answer, but he was pouting, looking off at some dingy speck on the wall. Then, almost like he wished he hadn't brought it up at all, he nodded.

Shinobu sighed, resisting the urge to roll his eyes. "Misaki…" He started, the warning ringing loud and clear in the sunlit room. Upon hearing his name, Misaki turned his head even more to the side, his lips forced in a thin line. His hands were shaking, but Shinobu had known Misaki for so long that he knew it wasn't from fear.

"Misaki…"

"Look, I'm sorry I asked, okay? I'm sure you have more important things to worry about anyways…" Tears prickled at the corners of his eyes, but he wiped them away stubbornly, his brow furrowed in concentration. "It's just… it's not fair!" Hiccup. "It'll… all be over soon and he won't even…" Hiccup, sob. "Know…"

And the dam was broken. Tears, fat and salty in their execution, fell down Misaki's face, wetting his cheeks, his feminine jaw-line. His eyes were like some sort of watercolor, murky and unclear, the vibrant green from only moments before a shattered pigment, like stained glass in a cathedral.

Shinobu sighed, getting up, his arm aching where the IV was still attached. With as little vehemence as possible, he took it off, a slight sting of irritation being his reward. He ground his teeth together, the pain only slightly stinging, before a moment later he was standing directly in front of Misaki.

"Mi-chan." Then, quieter, "Misaki."

"W-what? J-just… just ignore me, damn it! I'm not crying—I just have something in my eye!" But even as he said this, a particularly harsh sob shook his body, his chest heaving, lips trembling. He looked as though he'd seen his dog murdered right in front of his eyes. "Just… just go back to your bed, S-Shin-kun…"

"Misaki…" But it seemed that was all he could say. Shinobu was never really good at comforting other people—hell, he couldn't even comfort himself, so how could he help the hysterical Takahashi?—but now seemed a good exception as any to the rule. Sighing like he was lifting some incredible weight off his shoulders, Shinobu said, "Don't cry, 'kay? I just…" He lowered his eyes. "It's not like there's anything I can do now anyways. I…" _This is the end for me_, he thought bitterly.

_This is the absolute end_.

"H-hey…" Misaki's sobs had reduced to nothing more than sniffles, his convulsions reduced to nothing more than slight hiccups. "Weren't you supposed to meet your donor today?"

Shinobu opened his mouth to answer, but no words came out. Well _that_ was the question to answer, wasn't it? Would Miyagi even help him, after all that happened between them? He found that, despite his holier-than-thou attitude and even sharper tongue, Shinobu knew nothing of the man's intentions. He'd said he would help him… but would he, after Shinobu had conned him into it? Could he forgive Shinobu for what he'd done?

Could Shinobu forgive him for what he'd done?

After a pause that seemed to last eternity, Shinobu nodded, his voice dry and scratchy, like he hadn't used it in some time. "…I did. It was… interesting."

Now Misaki's were dry, like he didn't even know what crying was. "So what's he like? Er, it is a man, right?" Shinobu nodded, his eyes low and downcast. Misaki noticed this, but decided not to comment. "Okay then… so what does he look like? Where's he from? What's his job? Did he seem like a good person—" Before Misaki could continue, Shinobu put a hand up, signaling him to stop. Obediently, Misaki shut his mouth.

"He's tall, black hair, even darker eyes. He lives in… Tokyo." _I think_, Shinobu added silently. "He's a literature teacher at Mitsuhashi University—"

"Wait—he's a teacher at Mitsuhashi?!" Misaki's eyes were alive with some inner fire. "No way! Maybe I've had him for one of my classes before! What's his name?"

Shinobu pouted, his teeth digging painfully into his lower lip. "It's… Miyagi. Miyagi Yoh."

"Miyagi Yoh…" Misaki hummed in concentration, his fingers resting on his chin, lips quirked up in some strange half-smile. "Um… I'm sorry, I don't seem to know him…" He gave another thoughtful little hum. "The name sounds familiar, though."

_That's because it is_, Shinobu wanted to say, but he held his tongue. No need to burden Misaki with his problems.

But deep down, he wanted someone to talk to; anybody. Well, okay, not _anybody_—not only did he have his pride, but he had his conscience to think about as well. Risako couldn't know, so that left out all the doctors, all the nurses, all the psychiatrists. He couldn't tell his parents—not like he'd want to, considering his mom was stoned out of her mind half the time and his dad hardly did anything other than eat, drink, and sleep—not necessarily in that order.

That left a painfully small list. Misaki was at the top, but… well, he had his own problems too, didn't he? And Shinobu supposed he could tell Nowaki, but he was afraid—a deep rooted terror that Nowaki would find him dirty and never want to see him again. It was irrational, he knew, but maybe, in some twisted sense, it wasn't. He'd been abandoned here, at a hospital, all for doing what many considered unthinkable.

As though he was back _there_, the dagger twisted painfully in his chest.

Even so… No, _especially_ so, he couldn't even love himself. He was dirty, unwanted, a used product. Why would anybody want him?

He sure as hell didn't.

"Are you okay? You're crying." And true enough, tears were streaming down his face, each a racing rapid, the goal the point of his chin. One more fell, and another, and soon he was drowning in them, their feel, their salty caresses on his cheek. But even so, he wasn't sobbing; no, he'd accepted his fate a long time ago anyways. Crying would do nothing.

Right?

"Um, Shin-kun… I'm sorry to be interrupting you right now, but…" Misaki flushed a little, his eyes staring at some point behind Shinobu's head. "There's someone here to see you."

Through the tears, Shinobu managed to spit out, "Someone? Who—"

But then a deep baritone cut him off, making his toes curl, his fingers digging painfully in his palms.

"Shinobu-chin."

"Miyagi…" _Oh no_, Shinobu thought suddenly, his heart palpitating. _He didn't see me crying, did he? Or_—and here Shinobu paled considerably—_did he hear our conversation…?_ Glancing up at Miyagi, Shinobu's eyes widened at the kind, piteous smile on his face, a deep understanding rooted in his eyes.

Shit. He _had_ heard.

Fuck.

"Shinobu-chin…" Miyagi started, his hand reaching out pathetically towards Shinobu. Realizing a bit too late what he was doing, he retracted, though the gesture still hung heavily in the air. "Shinobu-chin, I…"

Shinobu's voice was low, barely above a whisper, his rage seeping through like water in a sieve. "Don't call me that."

"But Shinobu-chin—"

Shinobu's head snapped up. "I said don't call me that! What do you want, Miyagi?" He was expecting some sort rebuke for such a rude reply, but then realized, somewhat sardonically, that there was no nurse around to rebuke him. No doctors either.

How had he gotten back here exactly?

Someone cleared their throat in dismal room, and Shinobu realized that they still had an audience. "Ah, Mi-chan, I can explain…"

Misaki smiled, though it was forced, worried. "It's fine," he lied, his eyes giving him away. "I'll uh… I'll see you later, Shin-kun." And with one last little smile, Misaki was out the door, his footsteps augmented eerily in the empty corridor.

He felt Miyagi regarding Misaki quietly, his dark eyes furrowed a little as though confused. What was he thinking about? Was he here to take away his offer? Was he here to hit the final nail on Shinobu's own metaphorical coffin?

_Is he going to abandon me too?_

"Shinobu-chin—er, Shinobu-kun." It seemed like their informality couldn't be erased in just a few minutes. Not amused, Shinobu glared, though even _he_ felt like it was lacking venom. Miyagi smirked, though his eyes were sad, and Shinobu knew it was just an act.

Not liking the silence, Shinobu cleared his throat awkwardly. "Is there something you need, Miyagi?" His eyes followed each hand as they were stuffed in Miyagi's pockets, the way his head bowed and that sad, sad look in his eyes. What was wrong with him? "Miyagi?"

"I didn't come to see you, if that's what you're asking," Miyagi bit out angrily, shoulders tense. "I just… I got lost on my way out. That's all." With a half-petulant, half-childish look in his eyes, Miyagi said, "You're looking better though."

Voice dripping with acrid sarcasm, Shinobu said, "Thanks. I hadn't noticed." His brow furrowed in concentration—so no snarky remark from the teacher either? "…Are you feeling okay, Miyagi? Is there something you need—"

"You're in love with that doctor, aren't you?"

The question caught Shinobu off guard, his face flushing. He wished at this very instant that the third floor would collapse and take Miyagi along with it. "W-what're you talking about? I-I don't…" Shinobu swallowed hard, his voice uneven. "I don't know what you mean."

"So I have to scream it?" At Shinobu's horrified look, Miyagi relented, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Alright, alright, I won't. But Shinobu-kun, look at you—you look awful."

"…Is this your way of getting into my good graces again? Because it sure as hell isn't working."

"No, it's not that…" Miyagi sighed, a sound so terribly destroyed and heartbroken, it carried desolately through the empty hall. Shinobu waited, watching as Miyagi's hands clenched and unclenched, his lower lip being savagely attacked by his teeth. What was his _deal_? Did something happen—

"Shinobu-kun, I… that is to say, could we… talk?"

"We are talking."

"N-not like this." Shinobu had been expecting some scathing remark, not a shaky whisper that seemed to go straight to his heart. "Can we… go somewhere? Somewhere private?" Miyagi glanced at the clock, then at the impeccable white sheets, the walls that looked polished, the scent of death upon them. "Can we leave this place?"

"You don't like hospitals, do you?" Shinobu had intended for it to come out playful, but instead it sounded broken, afraid. And afraid he was—for, surely, the very first person who'd abandoned him was Miyagi, wasn't it? Sure, he could blame his parents for their negligence, his body for his pain; but really, Miyagi was the one who'd abandoned him first. He was the one who had used him, used up all his emotions until they were nothing but cheap copies—

And yet, Shinobu found himself nodding to his unasked question. Yes, Miyagi had abandoned him…

But hadn't it been him who'd pulled away first?

"…Fine." His voice was barely above a whisper. "Take me away from here. Okay, Miyagi?"

"_Don't break your promise this time."_

XXX

**Okay, new chapter! Merry Christmas to you all! **

**:D **

**Sorry this update was a little late. It's Christmas here in the US, which means cooking intense amounts of food, putting up with in-laws, and buying presents the night of Christmas Eve. Plus, I've had school and college application stuff to worry about, so my priorities were a little shifted at the time. However, now I'm on break; and as such, I'm hoping to update one or two more times before the end of the year. We'll see though~ **

**Also, a question; is anybody interested in a one-shot about Misaki's and Usagi's relationship throughout all of this? Or should I stick to strict terrorist? Let me know your thoughts in a review!**

**Thanks again!**


End file.
